


Favor

by hibernate



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post-Canon, Trespasser DLC, Wintersend Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/pseuds/hibernate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Trespasser, Vivienne and Josephine have an enlightening conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pandamonium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandamonium/gifts).



The east side of the Winter Palace gardens is in plain sight from the upper-level balcony, leaving Vivienne with a perfect view.

Among the greenery the Inquisitor holds a sword in her right hand, gripping the handle loosely, one corner of her mouth turned up. Cassandra stands next to her, and though Vivienne cannot hear the words, the tone of her voice is authoritative and instructive, and she is most definitely not smiling.

Footsteps trail up behind her on the balcony; a familiar soft gait, feet dressed in leather and silk. Comfortable, practical – shoes meant to be worn for long days, hidden under a desk. A breeze catches on Vivienne's robes, and a subtle scent sweeps by; dried flowers to keep clothes fresh, fingers perpetually stained with ink.

"Most Holy," Josephine says, walking up to stand beside her. "It's been some time, has it not?"

There is much to learn from how people choose to address their Divine. The Inquisitor does not use honorifics at all, of course. Cassandra used to say the words with reverence, once. 

Josephine sounds — amused, perhaps. Curious. "Yes," Vivienne says. "The Inquisition hardly needs my oversight."

"That may be so, but you've left an empty spot in Skyhold."

"I have certainly not missed the constant draft."

Josephine's face is thoughtful. "Thanks to our somewhat brash Inquisitor," she says, "the Inquisition is now tied firmer to the Chantry than ever. No doubt you will be expected to visit on occasion."

"I'll make sure to do so, in those few spring weeks before the delightful cold draft turns into that sweltering heat we all adore so much."

In the garden, Cassandra takes Adaar's hand in hers, adjusting her hold on the sword. It is smaller than her usual greatsword, and there is an unbalanced, awkward look to her movements. Cassandra's lips move, but no sound reaches the balcony, and the only evidence of her words is the sudden flash of a cocky grin on Adaar's face. 

"I specifically told her to rest," Vivienne says, crossing her arms over her robes. "Cassandra ought to know better, even if the Inquisitor does not."

Josephine's hands move to rest on the balcony railing as she leans forward, looking down into the gardens. "There is no harm to it, I'm sure. She was feeling well this morning, and she has much to learn now."

"I did not spend hours healing her arm to have her put undue strain on it and undo all my efforts."

"Healing is important." A breath, and Josephine continues, more quietly, "All sorts of healing."

Vivienne likes to save her frowns for those who have truly deserved them. That does not mean she does not find the statement itself worthy of such.

Another has joined the Inquisitor and Cassandra in the gardens: Sera, bouncing on her feet around them. Cassandra straightens her back and gives her an impatient look, but Adaar relaxes into a full-body laugh, and in the corner of her eye Vivienne sees a smile growing on Josephine's face. 

"Tell me," Vivienne says, "does the Inquisitor know of your plans to return to Antiva?"

If Josephine is surprised that Vivienne knows, she does not show it. "Oh, I’m sure she has her suspicions," she replies, voice even and light, with hardly even a trace of wistfulness. 

"I'm sure with the future of the Inquisition settled, the decision to return was simple."

For a little while, Josephine is quiet, leaving Vivienne's statement without an answer.

"Did you know I was betrothed, Vivienne?" she says at last, gaze still on the three in the garden. "A little over two years now."

Vivienne shifts, placing her palms on the balcony railing, next to Josephine's. "A long engagement."

"Antivan weddings," Josephine says, corner of her mouth quirking upward, "take a long time to plan."

"I'm sure you realize that weddings aren't among my areas of expertise, regardless of location." 

Glancing in Vivienne's direction, Josephine tilts her head. "I have heard mages have more freedom in the new Circles. Perhaps in the future, mages will have the opportunity to learn."

"I would certainly hope they use such freedoms for things more useful than that."

"I think you might find our weddings enjoyable, Vivienne," Josephine remarks. "Food and drink in plenty, and the opportunity to conduct business while dancing! I would send you an invitation to mine — that is to say, if there was still a wedding to invite you to."

There is a question meant to be posed. Josephine likes to create little pockets of friendly silence for people to fill; an encouraging lilt to her voice that inspires a wish to accommodate. There is no telling how many have spoken more than they intended in such amicable, welcoming company. An ambassador's skill.

"I will have to bear this disappointment, somehow," Vivienne says, leaving the question unasked.

"I was engaged, you see, for two years and some." Josephine leans closer, as if she is confiding a secret. "Our parents arranged the match. But I've recently found myself liberated from that particular encumbrance."

The word choice is deliberate, of course, chosen for its audience. "Perhaps I should congratulate you, then," Vivienne replies, in keeping with Josephine's tone.

"I suppose this is all foreign matters to you, so I will tell you that the politics of marriage in Antiva are not as — dare I say — _laissez-faire_ as in Orlais. It is a rather complicated affair."

"As I said, my dear, I truly wouldn't know." Holding up her hand, Vivienne carefully examines her nails, and the perfectly detailed Chantry sun painted on each one of them. "I find the business of such things quite tedious." 

"It certainly can be. Why, just the process of settling terms for an impending liaison can be a bother, not to mention attempting to extricate oneself from it, should one wish to." Josephine taps her fingers on the balcony railing. "Which is why I was surprised when I received notice that my engagement had been dissolved, and with none of the usual lengthy negotiations!"

"Such a curious story is certainly deserving of a more interested audience. I've heard Cassandra enjoys matters of that particular ilk — perhaps you ought to tell this fascinating tale to her instead."

"She seems to have her hands full at the moment. Besides, I suspect she prefers more romantic endings to her stories."

Sera's presence in the gardens seems to have changed the mood; the sword has been put down and the concentration replaced with something altogether more raucous. Even Cassandra has relaxed her stance, comfortable in their easy camaraderie. Josephine looks down into the garden, a fond softness settling on her features. 

"Do you recall the last time the Inquisition was in this particular location?" Vivienne asks, eyes trained on Adaar. 

"How could I forget? Nefarious plans, assassinations, to say nothing of the ordeal of keeping Sera out of trouble. The latter was the greater challenge, of course."

"I rather thought your best accomplishment was how our uncultured mercenary Inquisitor miraculously knew how to conduct herself so masterfully on the dance floor."

"Oh, that was hardly a chore. Our dear Lady Adaar has a flair for battle strategy. I simply explained to her that the dance floor is a battle field like any other. You'd be surprised at how eager she is to learn once she has a blade or two in her hand."

For the first time, Vivienne turns to look straight at Josephine. "You taught her to dance while holding daggers?"

"It was a memorable experience," Josephine says, a spark in her eyes when she meets Vivienne's gaze. It seems likely that those innocent eyes fool a great many people, probably almost as many as her sweet, kind smile. It is a lucky thing, to call her an ally.

"When we returned home," Vivienne remarks, glancing back at the people down below, "I asked Skyhold's requisitions officer to assist me in acquiring a rare herb. Unfortunately, he was unable to secure it." 

Vivienne pauses, waits, and in the garden, the Inquisitor laughs. 

"As I understand it," she continues, finally, "he passed the request to you."

Josephine's voice drops lower, words spoken with an unfamiliar softness. "I handle a great number of such requests. There is no reason I would remember one out of so many."

There is still a sting to it, despite the time that has passed. Her notes are long since discarded, but the items seem to be branded into her memory all the same: _silverite, elfroot, dried redmoss cut from a wandering hill, and a heart..._

"Administrative duties are tiresome, are they not?" she says. Facing Josephine, the midday sun gets in her eyes. "They take up far more time than I would prefer."

"I have always found them quite rewarding, myself."

"The Inquisition will be all the poorer without you, my dear. You are an invaluable asset."

Shaking her head, Josephine's smile deepens the lines around her mouth. "No one is irreplaceable. It would be quite conceited to think otherwise."

Josephine has a great many skills, more than most will ever know, but no one is without flaw. A family is one burden the weight of which Vivienne has been spared. "The Chantry appreciates the loyalty of the devout," she says.

She reaches out to remove a speck of dirt from Josephine's sleeve, only to find the stain is dried and permanent, ink that will not be brushed away. The barest hint of a blush bloom on Josephine's cheeks. The fact that it is done with perfectly calculated intention does not make it less appealing. If the circumstances had been different, her position not quite so precarious still, Vivienne might have kissed her. 

"We like to repay such reverence when we are able," she goes on, as Josephine exhales, understanding flitting across her face, "if our blessing is sought. The Montilyets have never had any strong ties to the Chantry, but there are some Antivan families who remain rather enthusiastic in their piety."

It is a matter of practicality, the exchanging of favors. Josephine might give things freely for someone she considers an ally, or a friend. In some ways, no matter how skilfully she navigates Val Royeaux, she is very much a foreign creature. Vivienne is not Orlesian by birth or blood, but it is the cloak she chose to wrap around herself until she could no longer take it off. She does not leave her debts unpaid.

"Our words carry weight," she says, letting her thumb graze Josephine's wrist in a deliberate stroke. "After all, our voice is the voice of the Maker."


End file.
